Reqiuems
by numbuh0051
Summary: Kyoya tries to deny it but he still has vivid memories of the day his mother left and, try as he might, he just can't seem to run away from them.


_"Mama, you can't leave! Don't leave me!"_

 _The attractive dark-haired woman merely smiled at him sadly and ruffled his hair._

 _"Now, Kyoya, you're a big boy now. Big boys don't cry."_

 _He tried to keep a stiff upper lip as his mother instructed but even this command seemed enormous to the six-year-old. He stood up as straight as he could and bit the inside of his cheeks but to no avail, hot tears kept streaming down his face._

 _"Mamas don't leave!" he finally cried._

 _"I need to, Kyoya. You don't understand but you will when you're older. Big boys grow up and when they do, they don't need their mommies anymore."_

 _She reached down and grasped the handle of her suitcase, as she continued, "Now I need you to be a big boy and kiss Mommy good-bye, okay?"_

 _He ran up and wrapped his tiny arms around her._

 _"Now, no more tears," she commanded gently "I'm going to see you again, Kyoya, you just have to be patient."_

 _After giving her son a kiss on his forehead, she stood up and walked to the door. Opening it, she paused and gave him one last smile before leaving._

 _He didn't know it then but he never would see her again. His mother wanted to leave everything about her marriage behind. Apparently, that included him._

Kyoya's grey eyes fluttered open and swiveled around to take inventory of his room. The same muted walls that he had woken up to everyday were still standing. Same sleek, modern furniture. Same framed photo of himself and Tamaki. In fact, the only thing that he could detect as having changed was the position of the sun outside.

Sitting up, he smoothed back his dark hair and continued to exam the room. He had never thought about how subdued his room had looked before but, compared to the other host club members', his was probably the most tame. Bland, the twins would most likely call it, they being used to blinding arrays of patterns and colors.

If he had to, he would acknowledge it as being a tad understated but it suited him perfectly well. Besides, wasn't it always said that painting your room an unobtrusive color gave you more freedom with regard to wall hangings and other decor? You didn't want to assault your guests' eyes with a cacophony of clashing colors. Far better to direct their eyes to areas of interest that _you_ wanted them to notice be it a recently acquired painting, a precious antique, even a hastily assembled family portrait.

Kyoya smiled. It was amusing that this very rule seemed to apply in other areas of life, the host club being the most relevant example. Tamaki, Honey-Senpai, the twins. All members with the exception of himself had a certain intensity that pervaded the atmosphere of Music Room number three. Tamaki, in particular, had a glowing presence that was powerful enough to affect all those around him.

Kyoya, however, though being quite popular wasn't up to the caliber of his fellow hosts when it came to his request rates. In this way, he could be compared to the neutral colors prevalent in his room. Although a host himself, by his being vice-president, he usually directed their clients towards the other, more vibrant members. A sacrifice, perhaps, but, then again, Kyoya valued his ability to control things behind the scenes. Not possessing nearly as many fans as, say, Tamaki, enabled him to raise their club's revenue unencumbered.

Blinking quickly, Kyoya finally pulled himself off from his bed and stretched, wondering why he seemed so inclined to let his mind wander today. Did it have to do with...?

No. It wasn't. He had put that incident out of his mind years ago and had taken to treating it with apathy as opposed to pain or sorrow. It was no use pondering over that unpleasant event, especially now.

Yes, it was nonsense to continue musing about it but Kyoya couldn't quite stop the rapidly forming thoughts as he made his way to the bathroom and gazed at his reflection in the mirror while shifting about on the balls of his feet. Leaning forward, he silently appraised himself and frowned when he noticed the barely perceptible bulge that seemed to be forming around his stomach. He would have to go jogging now; as a host, taking care of his physical appearance was an absolute must. Anything less than perfection would not be tolerated and it could result in a loss of clientele.

With resolve, Kyoya returned to his bedroom and quickly pulled on his running shoes. An hour should be enough, the weight wasn't substantial enough to merit anything more intensive and besides, he had some work he needed to finish when he returned.

After filling his water bottle up in the deserted kitchen, Kyoya strolled outside and began to stretch to limber up before finally jogging briskly down the sidewalk when, unbidden, a long forgotten memory suddenly rushed back into his mind even as he ran along the street.

 _Kyoya bolted upright in bed. He had been sleeping soudly just a second ago only to be startled awake by a loud sound. Now his little heart was pounding wildly in his chest and his mind was suggesting all sorts of terrible things that might be lurking in the dark. Terrible things that had huge appetites for small boys. Particularly small boys who liked to eat peaches._

 _This last bit of information had been unknown to Kyoya until last week when his older brother Yuuichi had decided on a whim to educate his brother on the things that went bump in the night. According to him, monsters were very particular in who they chose to be their meals and they especially liked it when their prey ate peaches. It tenderized them, Yuuichi said, made them sweeter. It also made little boys and girls easier to smell because, of course, monsters had a really good sense of smell._

 _Kyoya had refrained from eating the fruit for almost a whole week. But today, the sweet, tangy peaches sitting in the bowl on the table tempted him beyond what he could bear and he ate at least three of them._

 _Now that he was sitting in the dark, his eyes clamped so tightly it hurt, Kyoya was regretting that rash decision. Now the monster was going to gobble him up in two bites and all that would be left would be his glasses and maybe an eyebrow or two. Swallowing hard, he waited patiently for the hot breath of the beast to rush across his cheeks, the low growl to rumble through his room._

 _But when around five minutes had passed and nothing had happened, Kyoya ventured to open an eye. So far, it seemed as though nothing had creeped into his room._

 _Suddenly another thud rang out. Jumping, he realized that the sound had not come from his room but seemed to be coming from the kitchen. Why would anything go to the kitchen when there were nice tasty boys to eat?_

 _Curiosity overwhelming his fear, Kyoya slipped out of his bed and padded in the direction of the sound, his heart still rapidly beating. As he crept down the stairs, his slippers barely making a suggestion of a sound, he was surprised to see that the light in the kitchen was on. Did monsters need to turn on lights?_

 _Finally on the last step, he peeked around the corner and squinted into the kitchen. Someone was sitting on the stool, head downturned, hands clenched around a dark brown bottle. As he quietly walked closer, he realized that it was his father sitting there._

 _Something made Kyoya stop himself from approaching him. Instead, he crawled under the ornate table that sat in the room adjacent to the kitchen and peered at him from under the fringed doily that decorated it._

 _As he watched, his father took a large swallow of the contents in the bottle and picked something up from the table. Scooting himself a bit closer, he was able to discern that his father was holding a framed picture of his mother. His grey eyes widened in disbelief._

 _After his mother had left a few months ago, his father had forbidden any mention of her in the house. Pictures of her were taken down, items she had left behind were sold, even the piano where she often sat and played was now considered off-limits._

 _This had worried Kyoya. He wondered if he would end up forgetting her. It had only been a short time but her face had gradually become blurrier in his mind as each day passed and his worries slowly turned to fears. He didn't want to forget her, ever._

 _But now his father had a picture of his mother, a picture he didn't even know still existed. His fingers ached to snatch it away so he could hole up somewhere and memorize the features of her face. Then the blurred memories he currently held in his mind would become sharper and more defined. He could put the picture under his picture so he could remember the times she read him to sleep, sang to him, gardened with him. If he had her picture, he would never forget her. Then, maybe, that would make her come back sooner._

 _Kyoya was broken from his thoughts by a loud crash. Alarmed, he returned all his attention back to the present and saw that his father had thrown the picture against the wall. It took all the willpower he possessed to avoid running out from his hiding place and grabbing the picture, preventing it from receiving any more damage._

 _Instead, he waited quietly under the table as his father ran his hands through his hair and took a final swig of his bottle before tossing it in the trash. Kyoya pulled himself further under the table as his father passed unsteadily. As he ascended back up the stairs, Kyoya quietly scuttled out from under the table and, disregarding the shattered glass that pierced his skin, gingerly retreived the photo. Inspecting it for just a moment, he clutched it to his chest before slowly walking back to his room._

 _His sister had discovered his bleeding feet the next day and, true to her gentle nature, removed the glass and bandaged them before helping Akito to clean up the mess in the kitchen. Kyoya never told them about the picture he had taken. Maybe he was being selfish but he couldn't bear to give it away._

Kyoya, from jogging placidly was now running at a punishing speed, as if by moving faster he could somehow get away from his thoughts.

He had kept that picture under his pillow for years, a true testament to his stupid naivete. In his childish ignorance, he had believed that keeping the picture kept him close to his mother that, somehow, it would fill the void until she came back.

The funny thing about it was, she never did come back. Kyoya's mother had washed her hands completely of the Ootori clan the moment she walked out that door and she had no intention of ever coming back. Yes, it was true she had called many times over the years, brimming with promises of upcoming visits and Kyoya, being the gullible child he was, had believed it.

Now, he knew better. His mother's promises were just that and nothing more. To this day, it still embarrassed him how much he cried those first few times she had called to cancel. His initial devestation had slowly turned to bitterness which had eventually transformed into apathy. He no longer believed her, nor did he care. He avoided her calls as much as possible and when he was forced to talk to her, he kept his voice cool and collected.

None of that mattered now so why in God's name was he thinking about it so much? Forcing himself to stop running, Kyoya collapsed on a nearby park bench and began heaving in great gasps of air. His chest burned, his legs were shaking, and sweat was pouring down his face. It was an effort just to lift his water bottle to his lips.

As he leaned back on the bench, he wondered why he hadn't thrown out her picture. It had been years and yet...

Frowning, he sighed and took another drink from his bottle before getting back up. Since he had run for longer than he expected, he would just walk home. Running obviously wasn't going to help his mindset and his body was hurting too much anyways.

As he started cantering back at a moderate rate, Kyoya wondered if working would keep his mind off the troublesome thoughts that keep invading his head.

She forget him, after all. Why couldn't he?


End file.
